Till We Next Meet
by Wristwatch-Wallclock
Summary: Sinclair goes to save Delta in Persephone, even though he knows it's hopeless. His last moments with Delta are spent in admission and guilt over what he had done. When Delta comes to confront him in Persephone, what will there last moments together be like.
1. Chapter 1: Cold Halls

Sinclair filled with panic as he saw the screen fade to black. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be happening. Everything was going to hell and he knew it, if Delta was dead then this is it, he wouldn't make it to the lifeboat. He wouldn't see the sun again, he'd just rot down here in "Rapture." What an ironic name, this place was hell, or at least the closest thing to it that he'd see in this lifetime. He was just sitting alone now, looking at the screen, listening to the loudest silence he had ever known. It seems that, for once, he didn't have a plan. His plan was Delta, and without the Plan, there was no way out. He needed to do something, and fast, if he ever wanted to leave. Walking up to the front of the train, he stared down at the controls, every Family member in Rapture knew of his "involvement" with Delta, there was no where he could go, yet going after the Alpha was practically suicide. He couldn't, nothing good ever came from playing the White Knight, so he just looked down at the control panel, letting it remind him of how selfish he was.

After some time, thoughts of "him" started to make their way into his mind, thoughts of how the kid could have left him for dead at any moment, but didn't. Thoughts of when Delta had saved him, of how Delta did everything for the good of others, and he realized. Now was his time to do the same. Pulling some handles here, pushing some buttons there, and he was off to Persephone, even though he knew this would only end in blood and tears.

Stepping out of the train and into the cold of Persephone, he had no idea where to go, so he just ran. He ran around corner after corner in the cold halls of Rapture, looking for someone that was probably dead by now, looking for the first and last hope he had ever had of getting out of here. As he ran through the heart of Persephone, he passed the lifeboat. He was temped to just go in it and just leave, but he reminded himself that Delta needed him. He looked away, continuing his journey. Moving farther and farther away from the only thing that could have saved his life. It felt like he had been running for so long, until he finally reached that room, and sure enough, there was Delta, strapped to a table like one of the poor saps that they had tested the very first plasmids on. Sinclair could feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, this was bad, very bad. As he walked towards Delta's body, he could feel his heart pounding away, forming a beat that filled his head and pounded in his ears.

As he walked into the room, he heard the announcement, and as soon as he did, he wished that he hadn't. "Augustus Sinclair has been sighted within the facility, he will attempt to reach Subject Delta, all Family duties are hereby suspended until he is found," boomed the Voice. Cold and calculating and just a little bit desperate. He had to get out of here, he started to turn back the way he had come, but then he heard it. In the silence, such a silence he had never known, he could hear Delta's breaths, loud and mechanical, reminding Sinclair that hope wasn't lost, but it would be if that slow breathing stopped. He hated himself for doing so, but he turned right back around, walking back to the other… man's side. Firmly, he gripped the restraints that held Delta to the table, and pulled at them with all the might that he could muster, he pulled and pulled, god knows he tried. He couldn't do it, it would take something, or someone, much stronger to pull those off. He looked down at his bleeding fingers, than up to his pistol. There was another way to free him.

Pulling the pistol out of its holster, he pointed it at Delta's one large porthole, taking aim. "Hey kid, if you can hear me, hell even if you can't, I'm awfully sorry that it's come to this. But it's the only way to get you out of here, there's one of those Vita-Chambers out in the hall, you should revive there shortly." He closed his eyes and wrapped his finger around the trigger, preparing to fire. He could hear the splicers coming, the whispers turning to talking, he needed to do it, fast. His hands were shaking, he really didn't want to this, yet it was the only way. He couldn't stop shaking. He couldn't pull the trigger. He couldn't do anything. He lowered the gun and stood there next to Delta, and started to talk, which was all he was good at these days.

"I'm really sorry, kid. But I just can't do it. I can't. I'm not sure if I'll see you again, but in case I don't, please take care of yourself and lil' Eleanor. I'm sorry that, in the beginning, I never intended to bring you with me. Never intended to fulfill my end of the deal, I just wanted you to bring me to the lifeboat. I'm sorry that I was selfish, and I'm sorry it has to end like this, I really am." He hadn't realized it, but his hand had slid over Delta's, and his other hand was on the side of the other man's helmet. "I wish it could have ended differently for the both of us," he said, brushing his hand along the side of Delta's helmet. "Because… Because I-" he was cut off by the scream of a splicer.

There standing in the doorway, was a splicer, half of their face had been melted half off with plasmid use, and their one good eye looked at him with a gleaming satisfaction. The meat hook in their hand gleamed, and Sinclair wondered if the splicer had polished it, the only thing that could drive his gaze from those hooks, was Delta. He didn't want to see those hooks coated in his blood, he wanted the last thing he saw to be Delta, for some reason that _he_ couldn't even comprehend. He waited, waited for the splicer to dig those shining hooks deep into his spine, to disembowel him, to do something. But to his surprise, the splicer didn't, it just stood there, staring at him with that one unsettling eye. He didn't want to think about what it was planning, so he focused on just concentrating on Delta, memorizing every detail on his suit and helmet.

After a few moments, the splicer started screaming again, and Sinclair flinched and focused harder on Delta, squeezing his hand harder. He just stood there, as the splicer jumped on him, knocking him to the floor and away from Delta. Before he could do anything, the splicer picked him up and threw him at the wall, his head striking the wall with enough force to make his vision blur. The creature picked him up, pushing Sinclair against the wall, but even then, Sinclair was looking past the monster, his gaze falling on Delta. He expected the splicer to kill him and be done with it, but instead, they kept slamming his head into the wall. Over and over again, until his vision faded and he was knocked unconscious, and he was just glad it was over.


	2. Chapter 2: Upon Waking

When he awoke, Sinclair found himself being dragged by the heels down a large hall, his vision was blurred and he didn't recognize where he was, even though he was the one that had this place built. The ground was rough and made his skin hurt as he was dragged over it, and every muscle in his body was crying. _So they didn't kill him? _That wasn't necessarily a good thing, though. But what could they want from him, then it hit him. _They bomb codes! Shit, _Sinclair thought, those lunatics were planning on bringing this whole place down with them, weren't they? Sinclair could feel panic rising, both cold and hot in his chest, which was already in pain from the beating he got from the splicer. This was bad. Very. Very. Bad. He needed to get away, he needed to find Delta, but the only movement that he could see was the splicer that was dragging him along and a little sister that was running quickly by, not even noticing him.

Sinclair kicked out, taking the creature by surprise. Scrambling to get up, he made a very pathetic attempt to run, only making it a few feet before the abomination jumped on him. And he went down hard, the splicer falling upon him with all the weight of sin itself. He kicked it off of him again, but it quickly got to its feet again, almost unfazed by the blow. Sinclair didn't even have enough time to get up before the splicer came down on him again, this time digging those shining hooks into the soft flesh of his arm. He yelled as the splicer yanked the hook out of the wound, laughing to itself, blood spattered the side of his body and face. Sinclair kicked again, almost instinctually, this time the monster was ready, quickly dodging and coming in for a counter-attack. Even though it was a matter of seconds, it felt like an eternity, the splicers scream, the hook gleaming in the fading light, that same hook digging itself deep into his chest. At first, he couldn't feel it, it just felt cold, but it wasn't long for a burning sensation to slip in. Crimson droplets dripped down his hands as he gripped his chest, his eyes wide in a mixture of shock and agony. The splicer seemed almost as surprised as he was, their one eye widened and their mouth agape, revealing sickeningly sharp, orange teeth.

"Shit, Doc Lamb said she needed you alive. Fuck!" The splicer shouted, its voice shrill and sharp.

Sinclair could feel the warm liquid spread across his shirt, dripping down his hands. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. _He was cold, a shiver escaped from his body, racing it's way down his spine, and he was having a hard time focusing his vision. He felt his legs start to shake, and he was falling. And he hoped that this time he was actually dead.

~~~~~~~Ω~~~~~~~

Sinclair awoke, he could hear two distinct voices around him, one of which he recognized as Sofia Lamb. Struggling against his bonds, he could only understand a some of the words that were passed between the two. His chest hurt and staying focused was getting harder and harder. Looking down, he noticed that his chest was wrapped in layers of bandages, blood was still managing to leak through,

"Fine. Fine. I'll do it," the male voice, gruff and sharp, "for the family."

Sinclair could hear two footsteps, one walking away from him, and the other coming closer and closer.

"So you're finally awake. It's been an **hour**. A goddamn hour. Precious time that we don't have, so you best get talking." The man didn't look like a splicer, his dark brown hair was parted in a smooth wave over his forehead, his skin was a dark olive and was surprisingly clear for someone who lived down in hell on earth. His strong jawline was clenched and his mouth was in a flat line, his green eyes gleamed with a sinister anger. "Time to talk, old man. What're the codes?"

"What codes?" Sinclair said, playing dumb. "Boy, I have no idea what you're talkin' 'bout."

"Forgetful much, eh? Well, I know a trick that'll clear that right up," the man said, producing a long metal needle from his bag, wiping it on one of the rolled up sleeves of his baggy shirt. "I once worked for a man named Atlas, he taught me a little trick that he picked up from Steinman," he said, bringing the needle up to Sinclair's face, "it's called a transorbital lobotomy. Ya' see, I just have to stick this behind your eye and reunite it with its little friend here," the man said as he pulled a small hammer out of his bag. "Once it reaches the good stuff, there goes your memories, your emotions, your creativity, basically everything that makes you," he said, pointing to Sinclair, "you."

"You trying to scare me," Sinclair remarked laughing.

"Oh no," the man said, his green eyes focusing on the pick, them on the hammer, "I'm just warnin' ya' for what's about to happen next." Before Sinclair could react, the man plunged the needle deep into his eye, only stopping once it hit bone. Sinclair yelled, half in pain and half in shock, struggling against his bonds and the pain in his chest. "Oops, that might have been a bit too high," he remarked in mock amusement, wiggling the needle around, sending waves of pain shooting through Sinclair's skull. "It's my first time doing this, ya' know. I've only _seen_ it being done once before, but I think that'll be the last mistake. Hopefully." He wiggled around the pick a bit before raising the hammer threateningly, "Do you remember those codes now?"

"No," Sinclair replied through clenched teeth.

"Fine," he said, tapping the hammer against the pick, sending pain shooting through Sinclair's head. Sinclair shouted, but quickly clenched his mouth shut again. "Still not talkin', huh? Well, I can fix that." The man brought the hammer down a few more times, making Sinclair see spots each time. "You might be thinkin': Oh Phil, why do ya' want those codes so damn bad?" The man looked into Sinclair's own bright brown eyes with those dark green eyes, filled with mock sympathy. "Let me just answer that: for the Family. My family. Now, I'm a nice guy, so I'll give ya' two options. One: just tell me the goddamn codes, or two: I'll give this hammer a few nice swings and take those codes by force." He raised the hammer again. "So, what'll it be? One or two."

"One," he said, dropping his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he felt ashamed of himself. The wound wasn't the only thing in his chest that hurt.

_(Sorry that this is a bit late. I had to use an oc that I just made up on spot, so sorry for their lack of character design.)_


	3. Chapter 3: Meeting Again

When Sinclair awoke, everything hurt. He was in such an agony, that if he could have curled up, he would have. But something didn't feel right, he couldn't feel the cold Rapture air on his skin, and he couldn't get himself to stand up. He laid there and pondered what was happening, unable to fathom what was the what was going on. He made an attempt to move, and he could see through the orange tint. He looked up at the ceiling, and Sinclair felt like he was looking through the window of a metal cage. He tried to move, but he only managed to flip over onto his stomach. He could see his hands, and the sight made him want to cry. They were clad in gloves, as he knew the rest of his body was in matching armor, the plate on the back of the gloves bore a strange symbol, one that he recognized. Omega. And it was in that moment that he wished that they had just killed him and gotten it over with.

Against his will, Sinclair rose to his feet. The pounding of metal against the tile floor echoed out as he stumbled over himself. He tried to fight, to resist, but everything hurt and doing so just made the pain worse. He felt like a puppet, just being dragged along on its strings. He could hear his the boots of his diving suit as they pounded against the floor, and he could see Rapture through the orange tint of his visor. Everything seemed ugly now, not that it wasn't terrible before, but everything stood out now. The crumbling the walls, the water that leaked from everywhere, the corpses that were just strewn about. It all stood out now, and he finally saw that Rapture was gone, that there was no hope left in this city of demons and ghosts. His hopes, along with Delta, were all dead. Eleanor was never going to make it out of there. He was never going to make it out of there. It was all over. His plan had collapsed in around him, and for the first time in a long time, he had given up.

Sinclair wandered around in what seemed like a pointless direction, the codes that he had been carrying before were now tightly clutched in his hand, stumbling and tripping. He climbed a set of stairs, stumbling over to a large window. Sinclair felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Delta standing there. The porthole of the other man's diving mask was locked on him, and Sinclair realized what was going to happen. Lamb was sending Delta to kill him. He should have expected no better and, to be honest, he was happy that it was Delta that was going to do it. From the beginning, he knew he was going to die. from the moment he stepped off that train cart he knew that he would never leave the city. He could feel Delta's gaze on him, burning through his diving suit and shooting into his heart. He could hear Lamb talking over the speakers, but he didn't pay attention.

Before he could react, he was pulled away from the glass, making a mad dash deeper into the halls of Persephone. He ran past scores of splicers, and he knew that Delta was chasing him, he could hear the sounds of their feet slamming a hypnotic beat into the floor. The splicers jumped at Delta, and he disappeared into a cloud of blood and flesh, his roars twisting together with the revving of his drill in a morbid harmony. Sinclair knew it wouldn't be long before Delta was after him again, and he hoped he would catch up to him, even though a part of him knew that would never happen. He could see that he was going toward the control tower in the cell blocks, barreling up the steps and into the office at the top. Sinclair watched as Delta entered the area, blood leaked from his diving suit and steam was being expelled from his air tanks. He was the picture of death in every way: one who brought it, one who overcame it, and one who saved others from it. But this time he came as an executioner. Sent by Lamb herself to either do him in or be done in himself. Sinclair couldn't help but smile as he thought about how the very hands that had once saved his life, were now coming to end it. The irony was obvious.

Sinclair could only watch as he flipped some switches and pressed some buttons on the control panel, and he knew what was next. Bars fell over the exits and Delta and him were trapped in this place until the death of one of them. And Sinclair knew that it was himself. He apologized to Delta for locking him in, and reminded him that he had to kill him.

Sinclair could see Delta staring up at him through the window, and he could feel the burning in it. He didn't know if that burning was of anger, sorrow, fear, or maybe a mixture. He watched and guided Delta as he gathered the code for the door. He was scared, but not with the fear that made you cry and panic, he had already accepted his death, but with the fear that he would hurt Delta or Eleanor. He whispered something to Delta through their helmets, and he hoped that Delta had heard. Sinclair could feel something clawing at the mind control. Something powerful. An emotion. An emotion that even now he was ashamed of, but didn't try to suppress, anything that even slightly loosened Her control was good. He could feel his fear rise as Delta made his way to the door, carefully turning the dials to the correct combination. Sinclair raised the grenade launcher to his shoulder, and he was trying his hardest to will his finger away from the trigger. And as Delta walked through the door, with the help of that emotion, he didn't shoot.

"Kid, you have to do it," Sinclair gritted his teeth and focused hard on not attacking.

He could feel his hand slowly slip over the trigger, and he could feel Delta's gaze shift. The older Alpha quickly ran over to him, wrestling his hand away from the gun. Delta twisted his wrist back and Sinclair yelled, dropping the launcher to the ground.

"Good," Sinclair managed to say through his clenched teeth.

Delta raised his drill and brought it down on him, never turning it on, just bashing him with it. And Sinclair collapsed to the ground, his suit ceasing to function.

Delta reached down and grabbed the key from him, and Sinclair could feel a cold mixture of sadness and panic bloom like a rose in his chest. He didn't want to die there alone on the cold ground of Persephone. As Delta went farther and farther away, he couldn't help but feel that hope was getting farther and farther away as well.

"It's not done yet," Sinclair said from where he lay on the ground. Delta ignored him, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't heard him at all.

Sinclair called out to him again. And this time Delta slumped his shoulders a bit, and he knew that the other man had heard him. The other Alpha turned back around and started walking towards him, standing over him. Delta dropped to his knees next to Sinclair, and to his surprise, grabbed him. Delta pulled Sinclair close to him, and Sinclair could see him clearly, tinted in orange yet still familiar. So close that their visors touched ever so lightly. For a second, Sinclair thought that there was hope, not for himself, but for Delta. And as selfish as he was, he was still glad. Because as long as Delta was alive, there was hope.

"I'm sorry that it had to be this way, kid." Sinclair stared at Delta, and Delta stared back.

As he held him, Sinclair could hear Lambs voice booming out its announcements. Cold and calculating and cruel. After the voiced past, a silence entered. Such a silence, he had only known once before. He could hear Delta's breaths, loud and mechanical, reminding Sinclair that, although he was going to die, hope wasn't lost, but it would be if that breathing stopped. He hated himself for doing this, for taking up the precious time that Delta needed, he was shaking inside of his suit. He couldn't stop the shaking. He couldn't do anything.

"I'm really sorry, kid." He could hear his own voice shaking. "Please take care of yourself and lil' Eleanor. I'm sorry that I was selfish. I'm sorry that I sold you to those plasmid trials up at Fontaine's. I'm sorry it has to end like this, and I'm sorry that you have to do this." Sinclair could feel Delta's all too focused gaze on him. "Because... Because I-" he was cut off by a low moan from Delta.

Sinclair could see Delta's hand shaking a bit, maybe out of anger, maybe out of sorrow. Sinclair expected him to strike him, but instead the Alpha slowly brushed his hand against the side of Sinclair's visor. Sinclair was surprised to say the least, he yelled at Delta, reminding him of how little time he had to spare. He could feel warm tears leaving trails on his cheeks, and he was glad that Delta couldn't see his face, he didn't want to make things harder. And Delta seemed to acknowledge his plea, he pulled his hand upward, making Sinclair focus on the porthole of his diving mask. He lowered his hand, and Sinclair stared at him, confused. Then he understood what the other was doing. Sinclair focused hard on Delta, trying to ignore the sound of his drill as it revved, announcing his nearing end. Sinclair remembered that emotion, and in that moment, he knew what it was. And despite the sharp pain and the blood, he was happy he recognized it.

(I'm sorry, I really just wanted to rap this up so it's really fucking bad. I'm not even going to reread this, that's how much I want this over with. I'm tired, goodbye.)


End file.
